Page 132 of Skeletons in the Closet

“What?”

“Did I hurt her? I… I had to put my hands on her. I didn’t want to.”

“Are you serious right now? That woman shot a bullet at your head, and you’re worriedyouhurther?”

Diem blinked a few times, focused on my face, then dropped his gaze to his lap. His shoulders rounded forward, and he went quiet. The tension drained from his body. His entire demeanor reeked of shame and guilt. Nothing I said made a difference. I tended the cut—the near miss of a goddamn bullet—until the police showed up.

The entire time, I talked to him. I told him everything Doyle had shared about Noah, Beth, and Olivia. When Diem didn’t respond, I talked nonsense, yammering on about nothing, teasing that he would likely need stitches and we would be stitches twins, and why did he have to go and copy me by getting hurt.

No response. No choked laughter at my attempt at a joke.

I wanted nothing more than to pull him back from the precipice inside his mind, but I couldn’t.

I ran out of things to say and decided to massage my fingers over his scalp instead.

Diem closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. A moment later, he moved his hand to my leg of his own volition and rested it there.

***

A paramedic insisted Diem needed a few stitches, so he was taken to the hospital, under protest, in an ambulance. Doyle and Fox replaced the constables who’d initially arrived on the scene. Once they had everything secure, they insisted I follow them to headquarters for an interview. While the two detectives went over everything with me, a constable waited for Diem atthe hospital, with strict instructions that he was to be brought in immediately when released.

Faye had been taken away in handcuffs and was likely warming a cell while things were sorted out.

My interview didn’t last long since I’d arrived at the tail end of events and had no information to share. By the time Doyle and Fox were finished with me, Diem was ready to go in.

We passed one another in the hall, but there was no time for words. Now that things had calmed down, I’d tried to piece it all together and make sense of the chaos I’d walked into. Was Faye connected to Beth’s murder and the attempted murders of Natalia and Olivia? Why had she taken a shot at Diem? What the hell had happened in that office?

I wanted answers, so I hung out, pacing the hallways while they interviewed Diem. He wouldn’t be able to return to his office when they let him go since it was a crime scene and in the midst of being processed. Although I doubted he would take me up on it, I planned to offer for him to stay with me.

Only after the adrenaline had ebbed did I realize how close I’d come to having my head blown off. Flashes returned to me at random. The door swinging open. Faye holding a gun, aimed in my direction.

Diem’s roar.

He had literally thrown himself into the fray and distracted Faye enough to protect me. She’d redirected her aim and fired at Diem instead. The bullet had grazed his scalp. Another few inches to the left and he’d have been dead. But if he hadn’t intervened,I’dhave been dead.

Twice, he’d saved my life.

I wasn’t sure what to do with the things I was feeling. It was too raw. Too fresh. All I knew was that Diem was a horribly misunderstood man who deserved compassion. He needed to know that not everyone thought he was a bad person.

Particularly me.

Three or four times, Doyle or Fox left the interview room, eyed me, but said nothing. Once, they returned with take-out food and bottled water. Another time, it was a handful of paperwork. At least they were feeding him.

I hoped they were treating him well. Doyle and Fox had preconceived notions about Diem. They hadn’t witnessed the terror in his eyes or heard the tremble in his voice when he’d expressed concern over hurting Faye when he’d had to physically restrain her.

Faye, who had shot at him.

The more I learned about Diem, the more I realized how broken he was inside, but no one saw that part.

It was nearing midnight when my cousin slid down the wall and sat beside me. I’d long ago given up pacing, too tired to stand, too unwilling to give up.

“What are you still doing here?”

I glanced at the interview room a few feet away. “Diem has nowhere to go. I wanted to… I don’t know. Never mind. What are you doing here?”

“Az messaged and said you were hanging around.”

I huffed. “So he calledyou?”

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